Fearless

by Lynne Connolly

  “Why did you come?”

  Her sister hushed Charlotte and led her to the drawing room. Charlotte stumbled, but kept her footing until they were inside.

  The usual chill greeted them, but Sarah dissipated that. “How can it be so warm outside and so cold in here? I had never noticed it before.” She spoke as if entering a house on an ordinary visit.

  Her tone went some way toward calming Charlotte. Sarah pressed her into a chair and then stood to face their father.

  “You will eject this strange woman,” the duke ordered.

  “I have brought servants of my own,” Sarah said. “If you want to engage in a battle royal, go ahead and have your servants try to manhandle me. My servants will take that amiss, I can assure you. It is, of course, your choice, but when I leave, my sisters are leaving with me. I will not let them suffer any longer now I have the means to save them.”

  Charlotte peeped around her sister’s skirts. Her father was all but breathing fire. He resembled nothing so much as an enraged bull. In a moment he would start to paw the ground. “Leave. I will have nothing to do with you. My daughters are my concern. Have you forgotten that Louisa is underage?”

  “Unfortunately, she is,” Sarah admitted. “However, I will create a scandal such as you have never seen before if you keep her from me.”

  “Oh, Charlotte has already created one.” The duke smirked, but it appeared more like a grimace. “No man will take her now.”

  Sarah stuck her clenched fists on her hips. “And that is exactly what you wanted, is it not? You refused to let me go when I received half a dozen respectable offers for my hand. Then I met my dear Sam, and I knew you would treat him the same way. I made my plans, because with you as a father, I needed to. You never had any intention of letting any of us go, did you? You want all three of us dancing attendance upon you until the day you die.”

  “Madam!” His jowls were certainly shaking now. Every part of their father trembled with rage. “I will say it one more time. Leave my house.”

  “When my business is done.”

  A bump sounded from the floor above. What was happening? Nobody took any notice but Charlotte, as Sarah continued in her tirade. “The contract with Lord Valentinian Shaw suited you well. You never had any intention of that contract coming to fruition, and you knew Lord Valentinian was happy with that.”

  “Who are you?” he said cruelly. “The wife of an impoverished journalist. What influence do you have? You have no right to take my daughters away.”

  “Matters have developed since you spoke to me last. I am the wife of a new Member of Parliament in possession of the fortune he inherited from his great-uncle who has connections in all the right quarters. So here we are, and here you are.” Her voice hardened.

  Charlotte recognized the sound. Sarah had often used that tone when she had come up against their father. She had defied him and taken the punishment meant for her younger sisters, until she had left. Her elopement had been the talk of society, but not for long. Something else, someone else had taken its place, as it always did. Sarah had thrown herself away on a poor hack who could offer her nothing. But her fortunes had changed.

  This heated argument would be the talk of the highest in the land. Their pictures would appear in the cartoon shops in the morning. Sarah must know that. She’d left the door open to let everyone in the house witness the scene. Even her father could not stop the servants talking. Some would hurry down to Grub Street and sell what they knew to the hacks who lived and worked there.

  Charlotte could hear the rustle of speculation, sense the news passing down the street outside and rippling toward the print machines.

  One thing her sister said resonated with her and put everything she had experienced into its rightful place. Her father never intended for her to marry.

  He wanted to keep them close, dancing attendance on the only man that mattered—the Duke of Rochfort. He had opposed the men who had proposed to Sarah, finding fault with them all until Sarah had fallen in love and eloped. Charlotte’s betrothal to Val had suited the duke because he never meant the marriage to happen. He might have ended the contract and then made it impossible for Hervey to claim her. She was a fool for not noticing, but she had been too busy fighting the little battles to discern the big one.

  “I have been cursed.” The duke’s voice cut through the cacophony and chaos.

  Two of his footmen faced two very large servants Sarah had brought with her, obviously expecting more than a verbal fight.

  “I am cursed with females. Get out of my house, all three of you. Get out now. From today I have no daughters, only a son. That is all I need for my name to continue and the dignity of the title to endure. You have an hour. Then be gone.”

  He turned around and left.

  Charlotte let out the breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. Air whooshed into the room, as if life had returned to a room mired in limbo.

  Sarah nodded to one of her men. “Go with Lady Charlotte and assist her. We had best make haste.”

  “What about Louisa?”

  A smile spread across Sarah’s lips, growing slowly. “While I created a distraction, Aunt Adelaide got her outside and into the carriage.”

  Charlotte’s strength returned quickly, and she raced upstairs, no longer trying to be quiet and decorous, intent on taking only what she wanted. She would have left her father with the clothes on her back if she’d had to, so an hour was a bonus.

  She hurled items into an open traveling trunk. Hunter was nowhere in sight. That was just as well because Charlotte had no intention of taking her, wherever they were going. She didn’t care. She was leaving this hellhole for good, probably penniless, without a portion, and with the prospect of having to earn her own living. None of that mattered because Sarah had come, and they were free to go.

  When she threw her new gown into the trunk, she paused and let her fingers linger on the silk. Last night seemed so long ago now. Only one event remained powerfully in her mind—Val’s kiss. The memory of it lingered, all she had left to remember him. He would not marry her now. The Marquess and Marchioness of Strenshall would not allow a penniless nobody to marry their son.

  Would Hervey take her? She felt sure he would. He had always told her he wanted her for her sweet self, not for her position or her status in society. He’d said it with such sincerity she could not help but believe him. They would go with Sarah now, and she would have a message sent to him, where he could collect her.

  She tossed items into the trunk until she had filled it. The man standing by the door came forward at her nod and fastened and locked it for her. She had left behind all the linen caps, the plain woolen stockings that itched her legs, the worn-out shifts and pairs of stays, and the thick linen fichus. The clothes she took were admittedly dowdy and dull, but she had to have something to wear, and she would not be able to buy new.

  The servant hoisted the trunk onto one shoulder as if it weighed nothing. Charlotte took one last look around her room, sad that she would miss nothing about it. She had no private items, no letters from her youth, no toys either, since her father had them disposed of as soon as she’d left the schoolroom. Her dressing case stood waiting, so she picked it up and left.

  Charlotte did not hesitate until she was inside the traveling coach outside.

  She did not look back as they drove away.

  Chapter 12

  Breakfast at the house of the Marquess of Strenshall was a noisy affair, even with a member of the family missing. Last night, while Val had been cavorting with his betrothed and teasing Lord Kellett half to death, his oldest brother had arrived from the country with his wife.

  Viola was an old friend. She had been the daughter of the steward to the estate, and more besides. In a breakneck adventure last year, Val’s older brother Marcus had saved her, been happily compromised, and married her. Viola’s presence at the table seemed as if it was meant to be.

  Claudia, the missing member of the family, w
as in the country with her husband. Claudia’s twin, Livia, missed her terribly, but she was holding up, and it wasn’t as if her sister weren’t blissfully happy.

  Val strolled into the breakfast parlor wearing a brilliant purple banyan, one of his collection of the soft garments that took the place of the formal coat indoors. He had floor-length ones too and took great pleasure in seeking out the brightest he could find. They made a wonderful contrast to the pale man with red-rimmed eyes who was suffering from the effects of the night before.

  Not today though. Today he was stone-cold sober.

  After greeting Marcus, he took his seat and reached for the coffee. His mother had long ago instituted an informal meal at noon to which all the family were summoned. Servants only entered when she rang the bell at her elbow. They were alone and they could speak frankly, sometimes brutally.

  His mother’s sigh alerted Val to the fact that he was not in her best books this morning. Such a small sigh, but so full of meaning.

  He rubbed his chin, the stubble rasping his palm. “You are about to comment on last night’s events,” he prompted her. Better to get it over with, and then he could eat his breakfast in peace.

  “Fill your plate first, my son. You’re going to need it.”

  Damn. Rising from the table, Val sauntered to the sideboard and did as she bade him. The usual delicious array of chops, kidneys, bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and the other viands her ladyship deemed necessary for her family’s start to the day lay in silver warming plates over spirit lamps, keeping sizzling hot. Val helped himself, but he only took a modest amount. He could still see the floral pattern on his plate when he had done.

  Returning to the table, he took his place. He would far rather visit his father in his study than face trial by family. “Let battle commence.” He picked up his knife and fork and cut into his chop.

  “Val, you have a positive gift for getting into trouble,” his mother complained. “Your little drama last night was enacted in front of half of London. The other half is reading about it this morning. They are now speculating about the bad blood between the Emperors and the Smithsons. We have only just settled our differences with the Dankworths. We are hardly looking for another fight.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Marcus muttered. He had his own reasons for holding the Dankworth family in contempt. Val felt for him.

  “We have to,” the marquess put in. “Let’s call it an uneasy truce.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Marcus said morosely. He touched his wife’s hand, and she gave him a bright smile. Too bright. Marcus lifted Viola’s hand and pressed a kiss to the palm.

  “Love at the breakfast table,” Darius said thoughtfully. “Too rich a dish for me.”

  Marcus glared at him, but Darius only gave him a bland smile and turned to his own food. Marcus’s happiness had been hard-won, and he deserved every bit of it. Moreover, the event had changed Marcus from a humorless dullard into a man unafraid to voice his needs and opinions.

  “What are you doing now, Val?” His mother sounded resigned, but her tone did not fool her second son.

  “Opposing the vile comments made about my betrothed wife.”

  “Charlotte? I heard you were playing piquet for her hand. Were you playing to win or to lose?”

  Val shot a glance at his father, who shook his head infinitesimally. He had not told her of Lord Kellett’s proclivities, then. Morosely, he silently thanked his father for that. He would have to tell her himself. And the rest of his family, it appeared. “Kellett is a miserable specimen of mankind. Charlotte favored him, but she is not aware of the full extent of his activities. Neither would I tell her. They are not fit for a respectable female’s ears.”

  His mother snorted with derision. “Are you telling me that women do not know these things?”

  Val shook his head. “But I would rather eat my breakfast without thinking about it. The man turns my stomach.”

  “And so you picked a dispute with him.”

  His appetite restored, Val forked up a piece of kidney. “He picked one with me. Charlotte is still my betrothed, and it is my responsibility to defend her against unwarranted attacks.”

  “Is that what he did?” His mother poured coffee and pushed it over. He smiled his thanks and finished his mouthful.

  “Not precisely, but he did mention her name in an inappropriate place. So I defended her.”

  “And won five thousand guineas,” Darius pointed out.

  “That as well.” He would devote the whole amount to Charlotte. She had earned it.

  “I cannot be but pleased, however, that you are ending your arrangement,” his mother said. “You might have to wait a week or two, but Lady Charlotte appears to be having a change of heart. She seems determined to make herself notorious.”

  Val opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, his father cleared his throat and picked up his magnifying glass to focus on an article. “I believe your scandal may be joined by another. I went out early this morning, and they are talking of nothing else in the coffeehouses.”

  “Do not keep us waiting, John.” The marchioness tapped her spoon on the table. “What is it?”

  The marquess glanced up at her. “There are some indelicate parts.” He nodded meaningfully at his unmarried daughters.

  “Hah!” Livia joined the conversation. “I am studying such indelicate matters. I wish to learn, so that I might help.” Livia had recently taken an interest in charitable work. Her twin’s recent marriage had dispirited her, making her look at alternatives to marriage. She seemed to be convinced that she had missed her opportunities, and it was true. She had never attracted the attention some of her contemporaries enjoyed, but she should not give up just yet. Unless she wanted to, but from the occasional wistful glance she cast at her married acquaintances, Val guessed she did not. Perhaps she would have a favorable outcome, too.

  The family had quieted, and everyone stared expectantly at its head. The marquess sighed and picked up the journal. “It says here, ‘The esteemed Mr. John Fielding, magistrate at Bow Street, had a violent awakening from his slumbers yesterday morn. On rising, his servants informed him of the sad parcel of humanity left at his front door. Mr. Fielding, being a compassionate man, ordered the female brought indoors, but it was discovered that she was past saving. The girl was cut over her back, so deeply as to show the bone.’” He broke off, appealing to his wife, but his children insisted he continue. Val sat frozen to his seat. He remembered vividly one girl cut to the bone. With a whip.

  “‘The girl had a note pinned to the remnants of her gown which indicated she was Jane Trotter. On enquiries, Mr. Fielding discovered that she was the unfortunate daughter of a button-maker in the City. On being informed of his daughter’s fate, the father broke into wails of distress, claiming he had not seen the girl this past twelvemonth, when she had left his house after a dispute. He identified the unfortunate victim as his beloved daughter. The marks on her body were severe and prolonged. They showed old scars as well as the ones that killed the girl. Such wickedness cannot be allowed to go unpunished, and Mr. Fielding has pledged to discover the person or persons who committed this terrible crime.’”

  Sighing, he put the paper down. “This is a sad occurrence, but it is fast becoming the first in gossip.”

  Although his heart sank to his feet, Val became aware of a slight sense of relief. Taking his admittedly poor behavior from last night out of the public eye was good news, although he wished heartily it had not been because of poor Janey. The news that she had died had hit him hard and had led to the loss of his control when confronted with her murderer.

  Did the authorities have any idea where she had come from or who was involved?

  When breakfast ended, he lost no time visiting his brother’s chamber. He even tapped on the door, something he did not always remember to do.

  Darius was at his dressing table, putting the final touches to his appearance. He tended to dress plainly, and Val guessed he would be out
of the house long before he had prepared for his daily London round. His brother caught Val’s entrance and lifted a finger. His valet disappeared through the jib door.

  “He will not listen,” Darius said.

  Val nodded. He trusted his brother to know his own servants. Darius had his dressing table at the side of his room. Val leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “So, Janey. Janey Trotter.”

  Darius rubbed his nose and grimaced. “Yes.” He stared at his reflection and then turned back to Val. “I persuaded the madam to give me the poor girl after she died. I did not like the idea of disposing of her body as if it meant nothing. I felt sure it would mean something to someone. So I left her outside Fielding’s house.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “Me, and now you. The madam didn’t know what I intended to do with her. I could have dropped her in the Thames for all she cared, as long as I got the girl out of the house.”

  Val frowned. “How in God’s name did you get her from Covent Garden up to Bow Street without anyone seeing you?”

  Darius shrugged. “I dressed her in a cloak and carried her there with my arm around her waist. To all intents and purposes, the girl was drunk. Then I dropped her at the house door. People watching would think she was dead drunk. I was masked. Nobody recognized me.”

  The matter of fact way he described his act minimized several important factors. First, however small and thin the girl was, it took a tremendous feat of strength to carry her with one arm for that distance. And the act indicated how much Darius hated injustice. The killing of Janey Trotter was an enormous one.

  “You know Janey’s killer will probably never be brought to justice for the crime.” Val pointed out gently. “The madam will never lay evidence against the man.” Even though his brother had assured him that his valet had left, Val still took care not to name the man. Once that rumor started, there would be no stopping it, and Val wanted to keep the information to himself a while yet.